One (DRABBLE)
by wannaberebel420
Summary: One thing can make a serious difference on the outcome of any event, or even someone's entire life. Voldemort realizes Harry is his Horcrux in the graveyard that night in 1995 and decides he best bring the boy with him, instead of allowing him to return to the one wizard who might have the capability to destroy him. (Rated M because Voldemort gets a tad vulgar at the end)


**One**

Harry woke up in an room that smelt like dust, with humid air that clung to his skin and made the sheets he lay on top of feel damp. He wasn't wearing what he wore to the Third Task. When he sat up and examined himself, he realized he was wearing a pearl white shirt and shorts that wrapped tightly around his waist but were too big everywhere else, reaching down to his knees.

He looked to his right arm, where he remembered Pettigrew stabbing him and looked in fascination at the long stitch that ran from the crook of his arm and two inches through his forearm. Odd. Magic could easily heal a wound; there was no need for stitches. However, he noted the stitches looked perfect and nothing hurt.

"Definitely not in Hogwarts." He muttered, pulling himself out of the bed. He examined the room more.

The walls looked like huge, uneven of grey stone had been piled onto each other, then shaved smooth. In the spaces where the stone didn't fill, chunks of dull green gems were jammed in and stuck out oddly. There were no windows or any source of light whatsoever. A painting of a beach hung by the door, the waves reaching out and soundlessly smacking at the sand. He realized he had been laying in a four poster bed, but far larger and more extravagant than his at Hogwarts. The curtains were gold, as though they had once glittered but the color had faded. The floors looked like black wood, but was as cold as metal on a winter day.

Harry suddenly realized his feet were stinging against the floor and he moved to an old red rug.

He wasn't at Hogwarts. He wasn't at the Dursley's. He wasn't at the Weasley's.

Where was he? What happened at the graveyard, with Voldemort? The last thing he remembered was Voldemort rising out of the cauldron. Harry couldn't remember what happened to Cedric. Did he escape? Did he die?

Suddenly, the door swung open. Distant light peeked from the end of a hallway. Harry decided it was best to explore. Maybe he'd figure out where he was, find answers the questions pounding in his head.

Harry stepped out of the room into a long hallway. To the right, he saw a dead-end with two other doors. Portraits of unknown wizards hung there, paying no attention to him. The only sign they weren't muggle was the occasional blink. To the left, the hallway stretched farther out and at the end, a stairway lit up with bright yellow light.

He walked to the stairway, examining everything he passed. One door shook when he stopped in front of it. A woman inside of a portrait, in a blood-drenched wedding dress, said hello and good morning. A clock ticked, a vase hummed ominously, the floor creaked even though he walked across thick carpet.

The stairway curled down, lit by a glowing ball at the ceiling over it. It went up a little further, to an empty space against a plain wall. Harry went down.

It took him a minute to reach the bottom of the stairway, walking into another hallway. It was wide, the most of the doors hung open. There was an archway that opened into a ballroom with a checked marble floor with columns, intricate carvings detailing battles spiraling up them. Gold lined the walls. A dusty chandelier the size of the Dursley's house hung from the ceiling.

Harry discovered a library, multiple doors that opened into odd rooms, bathrooms, closets, and one that was filled head-to-toe with violins. He didn't another living thing. Only a large house that seemed like no one's lived in it for years.

At the end of the hallway, he turned left. He walked and walked, making random turns. He climbed up a stairway into a pitch black area then went back down. He discovered a dining room. He found another stairway that led into empty kitchens. He found a stairway next to that which led to dungeons. Harry got more and more lost the more he explored.

Eventually, he somehow ended up in a large room that looked like the ballroom. It lacked the beauty, however. The floor was black specked in white and gray, the walls looked like it'd been built out of obsidian, and the chandelier was far smaller. However, the room was clean and it was nicely lit.

Harry walked inside. "Hello?" He called out, not for the first time since he began to explore.

But for the first time, someone responded. "Hello."

He jumped and twisted around.

The Dark Lord Voldemort stood there, tall and straight-backed with gleaming red eyes. His robes billowed out around him like smoke. He smirked. "Harry Potter, shocked to see me?"

Harry swallowed. "What do you want? Where am I?" He tried to sound challenging.

"I don't kill you, Harry." Voldemort said conversationally, stepping forward. Harry found he couldn't move, no matter how hard he struggled. "I've brought you to my old home, before my…Fall."

"Before 1981." Harry said.

"Yes." Voldemort nodded. "It's aged. By pure luck, it has not been destroyed. Only my most loyal of Death Eaters had known of existence. They all sit in Azkaban now. They've paid for their loyalty to me, but they'll be rewarded one day." He said. "I believe it is thanks to them, that this place has remained undisturbed."

"Lucky." Harry said dryly. "Why haven't you killed me? Did you stitch my cut?" Then, he winced. "Did you _dress_ me?"

"I want it to scar. A reminder that your blood now pumps through me." Voldemort stated. "I ensured it would not hurt nor would it tear. Don't worry, it won't bring any serious harm to you." He chuckled. "Yes, I did dress you. You're very scrawny. I will have to feed you plenty."

"Excuse me?" Harry spluttered.

"I have not killed you because we are one." Voldemort stated. "A piece of myself rests inside of you. Your blood gifted me clarity, Harry. I can see in ways I haven't in a long time. I owe you that. And, you belong to me. Your life. Your soul. Your blood. Your body." He grinned, teeth white and unusually sharp.

"I don't belong to you." Harry said. "And, what do you mean? A piece of you? Dumbledore said something like that before."

"Your Parseltongue is mine. From the piece of myself that's inside of you." Voldemort said, he wrapped an arm around Harry. He rested his other hand on Harry's cheek. "You don't understand now, but you will. My House Elves are currently cleaning the top floors. By the end of the day, my home will be in top condition as it was during my peak. I will assign you better chambers. Do you have any requests?"

Harry shook his head and tried to push himself away, but he still couldn't move. "Let me go." He ordered.

"No." Voldemort said simply. "Tell me, did you enjoy your adventure? My home is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes. Beautiful." Harry continued to try to move.

"Stop struggling against my binding." Voldemort ordered, voice turning cold. Harry stopped, gulped. "Harry Potter, you will come to enjoy being mine. I know it's hard now. You've only ever known a false purpose, but soon you'll understand."

"Sure I will." Harry muttered.

Voldemort leaned forward and _kissed_ Harry. It lasted only a second, when he pulled away he was softly petting the side of Harry's head. "You don't need to believe me. There'll be a day when you beg to sit on your knees to suck my cock, just to see me smile."

* * *

 **Drabble here, drabble there, drabble everywhere! Will I ever actually fulfill my obligations for Oblivion, or the two OTHER stories I got going on? WHAT ABOUT THE LEGIT, MULTI-CHAPTER STORY I'VE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE FOR FUCKING FOREVER? WHO KNOWS AHAH FUCK ME**

 **but anyways...**

 **Technically this 'drabble' has like two thousand more words that follow this, but it's hardcore unfinished and I decided to cut them off. I might add them at some point (if I ever finish it...) in a second chapter, but who can say? It's mostly the Order trying to get Harry back and Voldemort brainwashing Harry into a subservient toy that he sorta loves? If the Dark Lord CAN love?**

 **I'm beginning to realize I have a huge fucking boner for Harry being fucked all bloody and rough, him being turned into a toy and belonging completely and utterly to the Dark Lord...I like obsessive, possessive Voldemort and/or Harry...and I write a LOT about Harry being sorta brainwashed or falling hardcore in love where it just destroys him because unluckily for him he falls for the Dark Lord. I like Harry calling Voldemort his Lord and like...UGH! I wish there was more of it in the fandom, but I barely see any of it? I love all the tropes and all, but...like...I want this and there, not THAT**

 **So! Anyways! Instagram still won't let me make an account (that's what I get for posting Columbine memes and tagging Jefferson County aha fuck me) and my phone got disconnected by my douche of a former-stepfather, but things are looking up! I should get a new phone sometime after we move in August, I can still remain in contact with all of my friends since I got internet still, and I still have my Tumblr!**

 **Farewell all my lovelies, don't die at the hands of some horrific serial killer (unless you want to, then hmu we got something in common) or in some mass shooting (same as previously stated aha) and sleep wonderfully and be happy and be filled with goodness!**


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